“No, Irishman, I did not; but, ’pon my word, seeing how Burwood is encouraged here, I have been really disposed, not to drown myself, but my sorrows—in drink.”
“And did you?” said Neil, mockingly.
“No,” replied Beck dryly. “It was no good to try; they all know how to swim.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Neil laughing. “You’re a queer fellow, Beck. So you think you love my sister?”
“Neil, old fellow, I swear—”
“No rhapsodies, please. Be matter of fact. I don’t believe it’s love; it’s liver. Better let me prescribe for you.”
“Yes, do, old chap. Tell me what to do.”
“Go straight to my father and tell him in a frank, manly way that you care for Isabel, and as you are going away for so long, you would like to be engaged.”
“Neil, old fellow, I feel as if I dare not.”
“Nonsense! You, a sailor, who faces storms?”